Hypotheticals and Whiskey
by clemonlime
Summary: "Of all the people that could fit into the atmosphere of a darkened and dim neon bar, Spencer Reid was not one of them." Or, Spencer almost dies and his soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend doesn't seem to care and Hotch comforts him


Of all the people that could fit into the atmosphere of a darkened and dim neon bar, Spencer Reid was not one of them. With his tall, yet receding figure and his wild hair and his soft sweaters, he almost seemed to part the fog for just a moment to attract the attention of moody people looking to the brim of their glasses for comfort. Which was an impressive feat for anyone.

Especially an impressive feat to Hotch, who was sitting in the very back on a stool that creaked and a mindset that would never have been penetrated by anyone else. Anyone Else, of course, did not include Reid.

It was almost sobering, to see the young genius with so little hope for the future. He was hiding it well, sure, a neutral tone to his face and a somewhat normal gait to his pace, but to anyone with trained eyes, he was wearing his heart on his sleeve, and that heart had beaten to hell. He hadn't looked that dejected earlier when the incident happened, which wasn't all that surprising. Reid had been kidnapped and shot before, this was no different from before. In fact, the concept was relatively mild—no physical contact, no graze of a crucial artery. Just Reid and a man with a gun in a room. He did that every day.

This was different, of course. Scarier. No earpiece in his ear stuck with an extreme aggressor with a habit of manipulating other people. Very smart, other people. If they had gotten there ten minutes later, Reid would have been dead with no chance of resuscitation. That was frightening, but Reid hadn't seemed to show any signs of trauma.

Reid had left the office hours earlier with his normal, mediocre posture, a gentle smile on his face, and his bag over his shoulder. But now he was almost crumpled, disheveled, empty-looking. No trace of the Reid earlier. A completely new person was heading directly toward where Hotch was sitting.

"Hey," Hotch opened his internal debate outward as the genius settled into the stool beside him. He looked down to his half-full glass and slid it across the countertop, "You need this more than I do."

Reid took the glass in both hands and ceremoniously lifted it to his lips, letting it spill down his throat within seconds. He placed it back down and pressed his palms to his eyes, "Thanks."

Hotch wondered if he should say anything. Reid was obviously aware of how he looked and still chose to sit next to his Unit Chief, knowing questions would be asked. He felt as though he had the right away, and he was certainly interested in what tragedy had happened within the last five hours that had somehow completely wrecked his entire life. He was conflicted, that was for sure. But instead of opening his mouth, Hotch just watched Reid put pressure on his eyes, either to stop from crying or to try and ward away an oncoming migraine.

"Hotch," Reid said after a long while, a long exhale that he'd been holding in his mouth.

"Yes, Reid." Hotch tried to make his voice sound comforting, and it took a lot more effort due to the amount of alcohol in his system.

"Say someone is working a dangerous job," he said, making a hypothetical out of what was so obviously happening to him to remove the sentiment, "and they are often in the line of fire."

"Yes."

"After a few times of this someone brushing with death," Reid peered into the empty glass with a frown on his lips, "is their significant other in the right to not really... care?"

Hotch raised an eyebrow, "Do you want me to continue to consider this to be hypothetical, or would you like to explain the whole story so I can accurately help?"

Reid blew out a whiskey-flavored breath, "I almost died today. Right? That's a scary thing."

"That is a scary thing," he agreed hesitantly, "That's why we were so cautious, but you appeared fine earlier."

"I was fine," Reid whispered, "I got home, everything was fine. We were-"

"We?"

"Me and Ethan," Reid said, "Boyfriend. Ex... boyfriend. Hope you don't mind."

Hotch nodded slowly. He was less concerned that Reid thought he'd have a problem with his preference, and more confused as to how he'd missed the fact that Reid was in a relationship. The fact that he was taken for a past period of time made his insides burn, but there was no use being jealous over something that was gone.

"Yeah, anyway," he inhaled through his nose loudly, revving himself up to speak, "We do this thing where we recount our day. Talk about everything, get things off our chests. It's been helpful since Hankel, I don't have to hide anything."

"You've certainly been more confident," Hotch offered.

"He works at a bar, y'know," Reid finally turned to make eye contact, and the older agent was blown away by the lack of life in them. "He had a fight earlier today, and that was his highlight. I expressed concern like a human does. Right?"

"Right."

"I tried to ease into it," he laughed darkly and spun the glass around with his fingers, "Start with how bad the coffee was. Mention you were wearing a different tie."

Hotch looked down to the tie. It was certainly a change.

"Then I just told him. Ripped the band-aid off," Reid's hands flattened against the counter, hard, until the outsides of his palms were white. "And do you know what he did?"

"What did he do?"

"He asked me if anything else happened." Reid shook his head, "I laughed, thought it was a joke, but there was no hint of humor. He was bored."

"I'm so sorry, Reid..."

"It's alright," he stood up, "It's always a good thing to find out someone could care less if you died. Do you want another drink?"

"Sure," Hotch said, reacting on autopilot. As soon as Reid turned to go to the bar, he turned and placed his head in his hands. He knew too much about what Reid was going through. Haley had often expressed concern with his early-on incidents in the field, but as time went in, the horror would start to dilute until he only got a shrug in response. He hated that Reid had to go through this alone, however. At least Hotch had Jack to keep him company. Reid was practically alone, now that this ex-boyfriend of his was gone. He didn't have so many friends, everyone knew that.

After a few drinks, Reid seemed to open up easily.

"Can you believe that?" Reid's cheek was pressed against the cold bar, his hand stirring his drink with a tiny black straw, "Thirteen years of friendship. Nearly three years of a relationship. And it wouldn't matter if I hadn't come home to him?"

"I truly can't," Hotch said sympathetically. He had learned early on in the conversation that Reid, when drunk, thrived on praise. It was obvious the younger agent hadn't been able to talk like this in awhile. Not even with Ethan.

"Ugh," Reid pushed himself up, groaning and gripping onto one of Hotch's lapels to get his balance. His face was flushed with alcohol, and Hotch couldn't help but think about how beautiful he looked with neon backlighting and his hair even more of a mess than when he walked in. His tie was crooked and his top two buttons were undone. "I just want to be appreciated. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not," Hotch said, liquor loosening his tongue. "You deserve the world."

Reid beamed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. His hand didn't stray from Hotch's lapel. His demeanor shifted into a thoughtful one for a few seconds before crumbling into the most heartbroken sight (a very intoxicated) Hotch had seen in quite awhile. He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"It's cuddle day," Reid murmured sadly, "Ethan and I were supposed to..."

"Cuddle?" Hotch filled in the blank curiously.

"Yeahhhh," his arm slipped out from him and he all but half-landed in Hotch's lap, "I don't want to go home. I don't know if he's still there."

Hotch just stared at Reid.

"Hotch?" Reid's eyebrows raised.

Hotch carefully took Reid's hand and lead him outside of the bar, silently throwing an arm in the air to hail a cab. Reid said nothing, just slowly sank into Hotch's side.

* * *

The morning was alarming. Reid awoke first. As memories from the night before resurfaced, and he remembered his spat with Ethan, he stiffened at the feeling of a body behind him and cursed himself for crawling back to the guy who could care less about him. Slowly, he extracted himself from the bed and raised an eyebrow as he realized all of his clothes were on and the carpet he was standing on wasn't familiar.

The smell was.

Carefully, he turned back to the bed and froze at the sight of a still suit-clad Hotch asleep, his arms still formed awkwardly where they had been wrapped around Reid's waist.

Reid thought for a long moment. He considered leaving, knowing there was a substantial chance that Hotch would forget he was ever there. But did he want that?

Before he could even step in either direction, Hotch's eyes fluttered open and he stared with amusement and surprise at the sight of a disheveled Reid in his bedroom with the funniest and most adorable panicked face.

"Hey," Hotch said gruffly, wincing at the light coming through the blinds. "Where ya going?"

Reid shrugged, his mind foggy and aching. "I, um... I don't really know where I was going."

"You still going to leave anyway?"

"God, no."

Reid shed his tie and his mismatched socks before crawling back into the soft mattress and inserting himself into the space between Hotch's arms. They closed their eyes and promptly slept their hangovers away.


End file.
